


Falling

by xtricks



Series: Kink Bingo [6]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dark, Kink, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Goes with 'Russian Roulette' and comes before it, in time.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Goes with 'Russian Roulette' and comes before it, in time.

It was like watching something priceless and delicately tuned slowly fall to pieces. Jack was stuttering to ruin, functioning in fits and starts, and watching him come apart was breaking Ianto’s heart.

He was standing in Jack’s office, two cups of coffee in hand, wondering where he’d gone this time. His desk was abnormally clear and that set off warning bells in his mind. Jack didn’t enjoy his paperwork and defeated Ianto’s efforts at cleanliness like it was one of Torchwood’s chartered missions - by order of the Queen, Ianto Jones was never permitted to see every inch of Jack’s desk naked. Ianto ran his fingers over the top, the antique varnish was crackled, pitted with burn marks and acid stains, decorated with coffee rings and bits of scratched in graffiti. For all the times he’d been fucked on it, it should have his fingernail gouges racked into it as well. Ianto’s half-smile was tired, if that were possible no doubt the whole thing would be striped with marks - who knew how many people had ridden to orgasm on Jack’s cock and Jack’s desk over the years? He stroked the smooth wood again, as if it could tell him Jack’s secrets. He’d be happy if it would just tell him where Jack _was._

It was Jack’s coat that sparked the change from worry to decision. It was Jack’s coat that did it because Jack’s coat was here. Jack was not. That the two would separate was like a violation of natural law. The fact that this wasn’t the first time Ianto had seen him be careless with it was another check mark on the list of _‘what’s wrong with jack?’_ Ianto had been keeping in his head since … since the end. Since Tosh and Owen died, since their whole secret little world fell apart. Ianto couldn’t claim he was _well,_ but he was … well, he was coping. He thought. He was too busy to break down, at any rate. Jack seemed to be finding the time. And it was time that Ianto found Jack.

Which was not that impossible a task, he discovered. If Jack was where his cell phone and PDA were, then he was off somewhere near Gracery Park. Ianto folded Jack’s coat over his arm and took it with him as he drove past the club district to the seedy pub district and just beyond where seedy became downright unsavory. The clubs here had names like ‘The Hole’ and ‘The Alibi’ and were interspersed with empty storefronts where chilly, desperate men and women tried to avoid arrest as they loitered suggestively on street corners. Ianto parked, clicking the alarm with some trepidation, wrinkling his nose and hesitating as he realized he might be interrupting an assignation that he’d much rather imagine Jack never doing. But he had a hard time believing Jack seeking a prostitute and it was that which moved Ianto forward. If he wasn't with a whore, what _was_ Jack doing?

It was a rhetorical question that Ianto wished he’d never discovered the actual answer for.

He heard it first: grunts, low voices, the scrape of shoes across a wooden floor, a sudden slap and a muffled cry. Ianto hunched down and sped up, reaching for his gun as he sidled into the alley and he wondered if he should call Gwen for back-up. Perhaps Jack had taken a call. Perhaps it was something normal, like work, that had taken Jack from the Hub so late. The rusty delivery door in back of one closed shop was bent open to the night and he stepped cautiously over trash and empty bottles as he peered inside. Light from the street lamps outside cast enough light through the cracked windows to see into the empty room. The worn floorboards were littered with old newspapers and bits of trash, broken glass from beer bottles glinted in the corners and empty shelves listed against the walls. There were eight or so men there, shuffling in the dimness, hands shoved into their pants, and on his knees in the middle of it all, was Jack. Ianto inhaled, grip tightening painfully on his gun but even as he tensed to rush in he realized that Jack wasn’t a _prisoner._

There was another noisy slap and Jack bucked, his moans muffled by the cock shoved into his mouth. The man - the other man - kneeling behind Jack squeezed the curve of Jack’s arse, laughing low and rough. 

“Take that cock, pretty boy,” he growled, his Northern accent flat and thick then smacked Jack’s ass again. Jack was shoved forward by the blow, the cock in his mouth plunging deep enough to make him gag. He didn’t pull back though, Ianto watched him clutch at the jeans of the man fucking his face and heard the wet slobbering noises as he tried to suck it impossibly deeper. Ianto’s stomach clenched with despair, he was frozen to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away.

Jack was mostly naked, his trousers around his knees, his shirt hanging open as he crouched there, plugged at both ends, being reamed by strangers in a filthy room in a filthy part of town. The curve of his back was bare where his shirt was rucked up, and beautiful, even in the darkness and grime. Ianto could see dark smears on his skin - bruises or dirt - along with the sheen of sweat and spatters of semen. Another man was standing over the little trio, teeth bared as he grunted and jerked off above Jack’s body, adding to the mess. Ianto hated the sight of it all; the hands clumsy on that skin, a stranger’s hand twisting Jack’s hair between dark fingers, the way Jack let himself be jerked back and forth as he was fucked. He knew how Jack felt, hot, satin sweet, perfect and worth far more than a raunchy, anonymous fuck. The man with his cock in Jack’s mouth groaned, pulled Jack’s hair and came with a grunt, bucking against his face. He pulled back and Jack sagged, head hanging, and spat a wad of come sloppily onto the floor.

“Who’s next?” he panted hoarsely. He didn’t even bother to look up as the next man took his place, shoving his trousers eagerly down. It was some young club runt in a shiny shirt, mumbling scornfully about filthy cocksuckers as he pulled Jack to his - inadequate, as far as Ianto could see - cock. Ianto watched Jack open his mouth, teeth flashing in the cold light, eyes blank. Ianto’s body woke with a sudden, horrible, overwhelming rush of lust.

“Not _you!”_ Ianto snarled suddenly and rushed forward, hand out to grab, to tear that skinny man away from Jack. There were wide eyes and protests and Ianto flung his fist forward, driving all his rage and despair out to lay that bastard on the filthy floor where Jack knelt, staring up at Ianto. Ianto kicked the son of a bitch for good measure, the clubbie whimpered and crawled away. Most of the others swiftly followed, measuring Ianto’s rage against a quick fuck and fading into the darkness. The guy fucking away at Jack’s arse froze, hands clamped on his hips, staring at Ianto, mouth open.

His knuckles throbbed, Ianto’s pulse beat hard behind his eyes and when he reached down for Jack, he rocked back with a snarl, making the man behind him groan. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Something in Ianto wrenched hard, a stabbing, vivid ache like a quick break. This time, he grabbed Jack’s hair, bloody knuckles stinging and twisted his fist to make Jack yelp. “Don’t I get a turn?” he asked, almost calmly. He could see Jack didn’t believe him, eyes narrowed, and Ianto grinned down at him - a baring of his teeth more than anything - and reached for his belt. Jack was in no position to not believe. He jerked Jack’s head up and looked across the arch of his body to the man kneeling behind him. “No need to stop,” he said mildly. The grin he got in return was broad and filthy. Like everything here. Ianto breathed in the filth of it all, looked at Jack, and yanked his zipper down.

Jack gasped as he was jolted forward by a hard thrust up his arse, Ianto’s hand still knotted hard in his hair. “Ianto -”

“Shut _up_ , Jack,” Ianto said, clenching his fist in warning. He pushed his underwear to his thighs and shuffled forward. He wasn’t hard, his cock lying soft over his balls, but he dragged Jack’s mouth to it anyway. The warm, familiar feel of his breath, just before his mouth touched him, made him shiver. Jack licked his cock up into his mouth and Ianto couldn’t help the rolling groan when he felt the first sucking stroke.

He _hadn’t_ been hard but his cock twitched and throbbed, swelling in the warmth of Jack’s mouth. Ianto breathed and watched Jack, fist still tight in his hair as that mouth pursed wet around the base of his cock, cheeks hollow as he sucked, using all that talent to make Ianto hard, to please him. Ianto rocked his hips, pulling back to see a shiny bit of his own cock, slide from Jack’s lips before he pushed forward again to slide back in. Jack made a strangled sound, his face - what Ianto could see of it - caught between misery and bliss. Ianto began to fuck him, in time with the pounding Jack was taking up his arse. Jack whined again. Ianto didn’t care.

He couldn’t let himself care. Couldn’t stop, not when all the worry and fear and tenderness had rushed to gather in the ache of his balls, slapping Jack’s wet chin. That ache made him wrench Jack’s head up, jerk his hips, tell the man behind Jack to _‘fuck him hard.’_ He’d come to rescue Jack and now he was here, doing this. To his dismay, the realization sent another rush of pleasure through him. He felt electric in his skin, alive and _powerful._ Ianto was done being the Teaboy. Finally.

“Swallow,” he rasped, panting, hips thrusting in short, rapid jerks. “Don’t you dare spit me out.”

The man fucking Jack’s arse, grunted, came and pulled out with a jerk, making Jack stagger and throwing Ianto off his rhythm. He staggered to his feet, peeling off a condom and throwing it to the ground with a splat. It wasn’t the only one; he clearly hadn’t been the first in Jack tonight. 

Jack moaned, shuddering. The vibrations made Ianto arch, gasp and shoot into his mouth, letting out a satisfied sigh when he felt Jack swallow. Ianto stayed plunged deep, until the last throb faded and the cold of the night made itself know again. The despair crashed back again, banished only briefly by the rush of orgasm and the satisfaction of _taking_ his satisfaction.

Jack wouldn’t look at him, when he pulled back. His mouth was a wet, hot red - well used - and Ianto could only guess at what he was thinking before Jack let his head droop, staring at the filthy floor underneath him. The sight of him on his knees like that made Ianto wish he’d never come. It also made him wish he was still hard.

**Author's Note:**

> kink bingo square: gangbang


End file.
